“That is what we look forward to; you have sown the good seed among us and you must return to see what your harvest will be,” said Hartwell. They agreed that his horse was to be in readiness the next morning. This was at their noon dinner, and they had scarcely risen from the table when the maidservant entered with the enquiry if Mr. Wesley would allow Captain Snowdon to have a word with him in private. “I was expecting this visitor,” said Hartwell. “It would be cruel for you to go away without receiving the man, albeit I think that you would rather not hear him at this time. Let me reassure you: he will not be extravagant in his acknowledgment of the debt which he owes to you; he is a sailor, and scant of speech.” “Why should I not see him?” said Wesley. “I am not afraid to face him! even a demonstration of his gratitude. Pray let him be admitted.” Very different indeed was the stalwart man who was shown into the room from the poor half-drowned wretch whom Wesley had helped to carry from the shore to the boat. Captain Snowdon stood over six feet--a light-haired, blue-eyed man who suggested a resuscitated Viking of the milder order, brown faced and with a certain indefinable expression of shrewd kindliness which might occasionally take the form of humour and make itself felt by a jovial slap on the back that would make most men stagger. He was shy, and he had plainly been walking fast. These were the two things that Wesley noticed when Hartwell was shaking hands with the man, and the latter had wiped his forehead with a handkerchief as splendid as the western cloud of a sunset in the Tropics--a handkerchief that seemed a floating section of the Empire of the Great Mogul--dazzling in red and yellow and green--a wonder of the silk loom. “You and Mr. Wesley have already met, Mr. Snowdon,” said Hartwell with a smile, and forthwith quitted the room. Captain Snowdon looked after him rather wistfully. He seemed to be under the impression that Mr. Hartwell had deserted him. Then he glanced with something of surprise in the direction of Wesley, and was apparently surprised to see his hand stretched out in greeting. He took the hand very gingerly and with nothing of a seaman's bluffness or vigour. “Seeing you at this time, Captain Snowdon, makes me have a pretty conceit of myself,” said Wesley. “Yes, sir, I feel inclined to boast that I was one of the four who bore you from the high beach to the boat--I would boast of the fact only that I know I should never be believed. You do not seem to have suffered by your mishap.” “Thank you, sir, I am a man that turns the corner very soon in matters of that sort, and then I race ahead,” replied the master-mariner. “You have become accustomed to such accidents, sir,” said Wesley.